


Let's Try This Again

by entanglednow



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Consensual Non-Consent, Consent Play, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Roleplay, Sexual Roleplay, They're Both Bad At This, breaking character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:40:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21691612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entanglednow/pseuds/entanglednow
Summary: In which Aziraphale suggests something a little different for them to try, and they both do their best.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 107
Kudos: 737
Collections: Ixnael’s Recommendations, Our Own Side, Top Crowley Library





	Let's Try This Again

When Aziraphale had first tentatively admitted to finding the idea appealing, Crowley hadn't taken it very well. He'd thought, couldn't help but think really, that it'd been about him, that maybe he'd somehow given the impression that he wanted that. Or worse, that Aziraphale had _assumed_ that he'd wanted it, because he was a demon, and this was just an elaborate excuse to give him permission. Crowley's honest enough with himself to know that he has a few issues, more than a few issues, with self-worth, and self-identity. But Aziraphale had reassured him, firmly, that it wasn't anything to do with how he viewed Crowley. It was just, well, when you harboured certain feelings about someone you couldn't touch for long enough. Then it became something of a habit to imagine a variety of entertaining loopholes that would allow him to have what he wanted without consequences - and the angel had discovered that some of them had been rather more affecting than others. 

Which forced Crowley to spend a week thinking about Aziraphale touching himself to - knowing him - completely outlandish and unbelievable scenarios where Crowley showed up unexpectedly and ravished him. And that had naturally led to Crowley having a few of his own considerably less outlandish but possibly filthier ideas about exactly how that would go. After which he'd been forced to grudgingly admit that he didn't hate the idea.

Admitting that he hadn't hated the idea to Aziraphale was a bit harder, still more than a little afraid of being judged for it. But luckily Aziraphale is as close to fluent as anyone gets in his throat noises and half finished sentences. The angel had ended up delighted, which had made the whole embarrassing conversation slightly less awful than he'd been expecting. So they'd both agreed to give it a try, on the tentative understanding that they'd stop and talk about it if it went somewhere either of them were uncomfortable with. 

So, Thursday night, after a few bottles of wine are emptied, and then un-emptied, once they'd realised it was probably a good idea to do this sober, they end up in Crowley's bedroom. There's a set of entirely new - and completely expendable - clothing now in pieces on the floor through Crowley's flat, and Aziraphale's deliciously nude body is stretched out underneath him on the bed, all soft limbs and delicate pink nipples, fluffy white half-curls bright against the dark red pillows.

Crowley's actually enjoying trying to pin him down with his hands, a lot more than he'd thought he would - though probably because the angel won't stop laughing in-between protests, and - to be perfectly honest - the most tepid insults known to man. He's called him an ill-mannered knave twice already.

Which, weirdly enough, is kind of doing it for him, because only Aziraphale could mix and match his name calling from the last seven centuries. But still, he can't pretend he wasn't hoping for something better than that. Something bit more vulgar, a bit dirtier from the angel's mouth.

"Honestly, when I agreed to this I was hoping for some actual dirty words from you," Crowley complains. "That you'd take the opportunity to be properly vulgar. Maybe call me a bastard, throw in a desperate fuck or two if I played my cards right." 

Aziraphale stops doing a terrible job of struggling underneath him and pouts.

"I thought I'd managed some rather stinging insults there, my dear," he protests. Because the angel keeps forgetting that Crowley is supposed to be a fiendish demon intent on claiming his virtue by force. 

Crowley makes a dubious noise in his throat.

"'Rapscallion' is not stinging, in any century, not even if you're a particularly cloistered nun."

Aziraphale looks affronted for a minute, until Crowley takes the opportunity to aggressively force a kiss on him - which he keeps trying to take part in, no matter how many times Crowley reminds him he's supposed to be fighting him off. He's not really complaining though, because the angel gives such excited, enthusiastic kisses, and he always tries to follow Crowley's mouth when he leans away, as if he can't bear to be done.

Crowley slides upwards, pressing against Aziraphale's glorious naked body more than is strictly necessary, but he is at present supposed to be filthy demon intent on forcing himself on an angel after all. Of course he's going to indulge, of course he's going to take liberties. Aziraphale would expect nothing less from him. His upper body flexes as he puts weight on Aziraphale's wrists. Which barely do more than stretch under his grip, as if they're enjoying the pressure. The angel is still half smiling, looking so pleased about the whole affair, no attempt to stay in character at all.

Nice as this is, Crowley feels like he's the only one putting in the effort at the minute. 

"Stop smiling, I'm trying to steal your virtue here. Are you even trying to fight me off, angel? I can barely feel that."

"Well, no," Aziraphale says, distracted by the question. "I mean, I'm afraid this would end very quickly if I attempted to _genuinely_ struggle." He doesn't even sound smug, if anything there's a note of apology in his voice, as if he's trying his best to be helpless enough for Crowley to overpower, and that just makes it worse somehow.

"Oi, a demon has his pride you know," Crowley protests, which makes Aziraphale laugh, and then pretend he's not laughing, the cheeky bastard. "Come on, at least make me work for it a bit."

"Well you haven't actually done anything yet," Aziraphale points out.

Crowley looks down, to where he is quite clearly pressing his rather obvious attentions upon him. And they'd already done the struggling and clothes tearing bit from the front door to the bedroom. He even pinned the angel to his desk and tore his shirt off, and the noise he'd made was so fucking hot that Crowley had immediately wanted to do it again. Also, he owns hardly any furniture and they still managed to knock into almost everything getting to the bedroom, Aziraphale wouldn't stop apologising. The whole thing had been very sexy and definitely arousing. 

"I've torn your clothes off, and I'm planning to fuck you against your will." It's not like the angel wasn't paying attention. He was making excited little noises for most of it, Crowley had assumed they'd meant he was fully on board. 

Aziraphale's eyes go a touch wide at the reminder.

"Yes, you're right, of course, I shall attempt to free myself forthwith, please continue."

Honestly, does Crowley have to do everything himself? He leans down and bites at the soft skin at the side of Aziraphale's neck, enjoying the way it makes the angel shiver and stretch under him. He should really bite harder, he should make a point here, should dig in until there's a row of marks in the shape of his teeth, until blood blooms to the surface in an incriminating bruise. That'd be a proper demon thing to do, leave marks, stake a claim of some sort. Which, ok, is a thought that definitely has promise, giving the angel an obvious and pointed reminder every time he turns his head, every time he folds that bow tie and pulls it tight. 

Crowley draws back, finds the skin red and wet, which is immensely satisfying.

"Unhand me this instant," Aziraphale says firmly, and Crowley's about to call him out for his unthreatening language again, when there's the dragging jut of a solid knee that sets itself unexpectedly on Crowley's chest and shoves.

He leaves the bed, abruptly, and ends up juddering into the wall, promptly gets tangled in his phone charger lead and slides all the way down, to end up in a tangled heap.

"Ow, shit."

The bed makes soft noises when Aziraphale hurriedly pushes himself upright and slides to the end, all pale, naked softness and wide eyes, hair like a halo in the low light.

"Crowley, oh, are you alright?"

Crowley straightens himself up and coughs. "Yes, yes, I'm fine, just winded is all." 

Aziraphale winces, visibly. "I'm so very sorry, my dear, I should have held back perhaps a touch more than that."

"Bloody hell, since you're the one with all the overpowered angel strength, maybe you should ravish me instead," Crowley suggests, still trying to untangle himself from his phone charger. Which has developed hitherto unrealised occult powers and won't let his ankle go. Why the fuck does he even plug this thing in anyway? Why doesn't he just waste a miracle to have the bloody thing constantly charged?

But Aziraphale is looking at him as if he's just suggested something utterly ridiculous.

"Really, Crowley, that's not very believable, is it? I can't very well be pressing my attentions upon you without your consent. I'm an angel, and it wouldn't be proper."

That shouldn't sting so much, it really shouldn't. Crowley understands it's more something Aziraphale himself wouldn't do than a judgement on him in general. He knows Aziraphale trusts him, he wouldn't have asked for this if he didn't. 

"Oh, it wouldn't be proper for you, of course. I'm sorry, which one of us is the lowly serpent and which one is the bloody Principality here?"

"Did you want to stop?" The angel manages to look both guilty and disappointed at the prospect. "I'll completely understand if you do." Which won't do at all. Crowley refuses to let a small setback like minor physical trauma and a broken phone charger disrupt this very lovely evening.

"No, no, it's fine, it's only my pride that's wounded. Go on, lay down again, and this time maybe pretend to be a bit more of a wilting violet."

Aziraphale breathes out a laugh and obediently shuffles backwards and lays back down, gives a little mock shiver against the sheets and a quiet murmur of distress, that immediately has Crowley laughing at his ridiculousness when he slithers back onto the bed.

"Honestly, you're the worst actor, the _worst_ ," Crowley mutters. "This is why you never made it through any of Will's auditions."

Aziraphale tilts his head to briefly glare at him, but very pointedly doesn't comment on that. Though Crowley suspects they're both remembering that Aziraphale managed to do a spectacularly good job of being him recently, when there'd been rather more at stake.

"Perhaps you should threaten me some more?" Aziraphale suggests instead, sounding more than a little eager.

Crowley thinks about it for a minute. The threats he's most familiar with are more of the misery and torture based variety, to be honest. He doesn't actually have any sexy roleplay in his demonic repertoire. Still he can wing it, he's always been pretty good at that, and if Aziraphale doesn't like something then he's promised to say - or y'know, he could always kick him across the room again.

"Alright but you have to make the effort too, you have to make it look like you don't want it. That means no wriggling, or smiling at me, or going ' _oh splendid_ ,' while I'm trying to be mean." Crowley spreads his knees at Aziraphale's waist again, finding the flexing, pale skin of his wrists and giving it a firm grip. He's definitely enjoying this part, holding Aziraphale tightly, feeling the shift of his bare legs and the slow rise and fall of his stomach and chest as he breathes. It's close and warm, like he's caged him gently with his own body.

"Of course, of course. I shall endeavour to be more resistant to your fiendish whims. What should I - er - what should I do?" Aziraphale asks, body shifting in a quick squirm of indecision.

Crowley thinks about it for a minute. What they really need here is for Aziraphale to make it more obvious that he doesn't want it. He seems to like that part, and this whole thing is mostly supposed to be for the angel after all.

"Alright, maybe call me a bastard and slap me."

Aziraphale stops wriggling and gives him an intrigued look.

"Should I?" He sounds shocked at the idea of it. "You don't mind?"

"Well, I mean I am currently attempting to take your virtue by force, I feel like it's the least you could do."

Aziraphale has to stop for a minute and absorb that information, much to Crowley's amusement.

"Still, I don't like the idea of actually striking you," he says quietly.

"By _force_ angel," Crowley reminds him. "I'm going to put my cock in you, and you don't want it. You should be absolutely livid."

Aziraphale seems to concede that he has a point.

"Yes, yes, fair point. Alright, fine, let me get into character again." He lays back down and his frown of indecision becomes an expression of angry protest with notes of horror.

"I am, of course, utterly furious about your attempts to ravish my person - umm, how should I?" He gestures with the hand Crowley currently has pinned down, as if that's an inconvenience he's not at all worried about fixing. Which probably shouldn't be hot but kind of is. The idea that the angel would have absolutely no trouble pinning him down and ravishing him if he decided to.

What was he asking again - ah, right. "Just tug it free spontaneously and go to town," Crowley tells him, because they both know that he can.

Aziraphale nods. "Demon, I will not just lie here while you defl -"

"If you say 'deflower,' I will take my erection and go," Crowley says firmly, because he has standards - he's aware this is a lie, he has no standards, not when it comes to Aziraphale. But it wouldn't do to let him know that.

"That's very unsporting of you," Aziraphale says, sounding horribly aggrieved, but he refuses to let the angel get inventive with his vocabulary. That way madness lies, he can't be expected to keep a straight face when Shakespearean insults get thrown around . Most of them mean completely different things now anyway, and medieval one are mostly just fucking hilarious. It'll take him out of it completely.

"No, I'm putting my foot down," Crowley insists. "That was on my list of words too ridiculous to put up with."

"It might have helped to show me this list." Aziraphale sounds almost adorably disgruntled. "I didn't know there were lists. I would have liked to consult it, and perhaps make my own." Unsurprising really, the angel does love making lists.

Crowley shrugs, a little awkwardly since he's still currently pinning Aziraphale down. It had been more a sort of casual thought than an actual list. When he was thinking about it, about what he'd like Aziraphale to say to him, what dirty words he wanted to hear out of the angel's mouth. Or what would put him off the whole thing entirely.

"I didn't want to, y'know, make it concrete, in case something was unexpectedly sexy in the moment." Aziraphale is astonishingly good at being unexpectedly sexy, mostly because he's almost never doing it on purpose.

"Oh." Aziraphale looks thrilled by the idea. "Oh, that's very clever. I really should have done that."

"Next time," Crowley says, which makes Aziraphale smile widely and give him a look of such adoration it's not even fair. How is he supposed to concentrate on being some sort of wicked rapscallion if the angel keeps looking at him like that? "Focus angel."

"Right, yes, of course, sorry." Aziraphale gives a token struggle, and Crowley can tell he's carefully trying this time, because he actually has to lean forward and use upper body strength to keep the angel against the sheets. And, oh, that wriggling is unexpectedly lovely he hadn't realised how much he'd enjoy all the excessively physical parts of this. They've spent years being so careful not to touch too obviously, not to stand too close, or make it too obvious that they'd quite like to. All this excessive grabbing and squeezing feels strangely transgressive and delicious. 

"Fuck, angel, we need to -" 

Aziraphale has a free hand suddenly, and it's unexpectedly shocking to Crowley, even though he'd been waiting for it, asked for it even.

"Lecherous bastard," Aziraphale says and swings, much quicker than Crowley expects. His cheek stings immediately, and it's a sharp, hissing sort of pain that brightens before fading to an incredible heat through the left side of his face. But it's the astounding realisation that Aziraphale had swore, and then struck him, because he asked him to, because he wanted him to. His cheek feels hot and prickly, cock giving a very interested twitch where it's crushed against Aziraphale's thigh.

"Oh," Crowley says curiously, eyes widening. "Oh, I think I liked that." He feels his whole face throb gently, from Aziraphale's hand. "Yep, definitely liked that."

"I didn't hit you too hard?" Aziraphale asks, in a worried sort of tone, hand still held uncertainly between them. "I tried to, umm, soften it."

"No, that was perfect, very thematically appropriate." He decides to take the initiative and snatches Aziraphale's hand out of the air, pins it forcefully back against the sheets, and Aziraphale gives an excited huff of breath.

"You know what you'll get for that, don't you, angel?" Crowley says through his teeth.

Aziraphale grins at him, and gives a little shiver, which Crowley will not grin back at. Because one of them has to make at least something of an attempt to stay in character. They're supposed to be taking this seriously. But, to be honest it just feels like an entertaining argument with more rude words, nudity and wrestling. It sort of reminds him of ancient Greece actually.

"I was going to be gentle, I was going to go easy on your sweet virgin body, but I don't think you deserve that any more. I think you need to learn exactly who you belong to now." 

"Oh," Aziraphale's eyes widen and he stretches and pulls under Crowley's grip, a pretence of a struggle that seems to excite him more than anything else. Which is fantastically arousing, there's no question about that. But Crowley's panicking a touch because he realises he's responsible for saying things that not only he'd find sexy but that Aziraphale would too. Quite frankly that's a lot of unnecessary pressure when he's having a genuinely enjoyable time. 

"Maybe instead I'll spread your pretty legs and just shove my cock all the way inside you. You've been a good angel, haven't you, you've never let anyone fuck you. But I'm going to have you in every way, take my pleasure in your body while you struggle under me, over and over again. I'm going to leave your cunt so open and so wet."

"Oh!" Aziraphale clearly approves because his eyes have gone wide, hips rocking gently underneath him. "Oh, no, please, you mustn't."

"I'll ruin you for anyone else. Then maybe I'll leave you tied up with your legs spread open, on display for everyone to see, so they'll all know that you're a filthy demon's whore." 

"Oh, Heavens, Crowley," Aziraphale chokes out, like Crowley has gone off script but he finds he doesn't mind at all. So Crowley decides to lean into it. 

"Would you like that, to be left tied to my bed, so I can have you whenever I want?" Crowley has to admit that's a picture that has a filthy sort of appeal, even though he knows that in reality the angel would be bored within an hour, demanding a book to read, and probably also some expensive pastries. Both of which would be difficult to manage with his hands tied over his head.

Aziraphale's attempts to escape might more honestly be described as desperate squirming at this point, and he's so aroused that the thigh Crowley has pressed between his legs is glistening with slick every time he moves. 

"You wouldn't, oh, you foul beast, you wouldn't."

Crowley bravely tries to ignore the way Aziraphale is quite obviously rubbing himself against the long length of his thigh now, spreading heat and slick wetness on Crowley's skin. The angel's whining gently in his throat too, and Crowley is rapidly losing all ability to think, let alone concoct more in the way of exciting dialogue for him.

"How could I have you naked like this and not take advantage of you?" Crowley says tightly. "When your whole body is begging for it."

"You won't, you can't - uh, Crowley, please don't." Aziraphale gives a high gasp, thighs shifting and clenching, as if Crowley's gently resting knee had tried to cruelly force them open.

Right, well, he can't be expected to refuse such an obvious demand for attention now, can he.

"Don't think your protests are going to stop me, angel. I'm going to fuck you whether you want it or not."

When Crowley shuffles back and pushes his legs open Aziraphale gives a choked moan, whole body shuddering in eager delight.

"Are you going to take me roughly?" he asks, voice doing a fantastic job of being tremulous and afraid.

"Ngk," Crowley manages. Because how is supposed to even deal with that? He can't speak, Aziraphale is expecting him to speak, to form words. "Do you want me to?" That comes out a lot more tentative and questioning than he'd quite meant it to. Because he could do that - if Aziraphale wanted him to, he could do that. Is that something Aziraphale wants?

"Obviously I will have no say in the matter, you brute." Aziraphale's voice is soft and shaky, but his hips lift pointedly, which is absolutely a yes. "You've overpowered me, and now I'm utterly helpless and at the mercy of your depraved lusts."

Crowley huffs an unexpected laugh, aroused and amused beyond all ability to pretend. It's a combination that leaves him light-headed and desperate, grinding his cock into the soft swell of Aziraphale's inner thigh.

"Depraved? Really?"

"I expect so, yes," Aziraphale tells him enthusiastically. Which - damn it all to Hell, he loves this angel.

Crowley smothers another laugh, he'll admit not particularly well, and mentally looks up the exact definition of 'depraved' in the dictionary. He supposes they are effectively already attempting to have sex in a morally corrupt way, so he's probably alright. He shuffles closer, pushing one solid leg up the bed, and taking hold of his own dick, settling it against the warmth of Aziraphale's flushed vulva. 

Aziraphale jerks at the contact, breathes out a noise that sounds wrecked, and makes a valiant attempt to close his legs.

"Stop, don't, please - please don't fuck me."

Crowley's dick slides erratically past Aziraphale's spread labia and jams into his thigh, when his spine clenches at that word from the angel. He chokes on a breath, nails digging into Aziraphale's wrist while he hastily pushes his dick back down, the head sliding through the obscenely wet line of Aziraphale's cunt, before he's pushing into him with a hiss and a half-bitten curse. 

"No," Aziraphale breathes. "Stop." 

The angel is tight - oh, he's such a dirty fucking cheat, the wet, clenching squeeze of him drags Crowley in, and the angel wails in a way that's half genuine pleasure and half hastily thrown together protest.

Crowley draws out immediately, and shoves back in hard. Aziraphale chokes a breath as his body jolts up the bed, and the noise that comes out of him is high and desperate, Crowley has to hear it again, absolutely has to. He repeats the movement, feels the angel's body squeeze down on him, still protesting in quiet, cracked little sounds while his body arches up into Crowley's.

"Fuck," Crowley says simply, body a long stretching line of desperate lust, as he fucks into Aziraphale roughly, while the angel gives short gasping huffs of air, body shaking beautifully on every thrust, the soft pale swell of him looking so gone with pleasure, and so enticing that Crowley's hands slip free of the angel's wrists. They grip his generous waist instead, pulling his body into every greedy thrust, watching him take everything Crowley gives him.

One of Aziraphale's freed hands lifts to catch the metal frame above his head, tangles fingers there to brace them both. The other rises, sudden and unexpected, to slap Crowley hard across the face.

"Oh God," he manages, face stinging, hot with pain and his own unexpected _blasphemy_. His breath is utterly gone at how furious and devastating Aziraphale looks.

"I know what you want, demon," Aziraphale grates out, voice gone shaky and rough. "You want to hold me down, spread open for your pleasure, forcing me to take you."

Crowley makes a noise that sounds like a sob, hands sliding down to Aziraphale's solid thighs, which he pushes open and pins to the bed with desperate hands. The move opens him, revealing where the angel is flushed and wet, clenching around Crowley's cock, which is now glistening with his slick as it moves inside him. Oh, fuck, oh fuck, yes, this, he wants this.

"You're going to keep me tied to your bed, naked and exposed, left here for you to - to fuck whenever you wish," Aziraphale accuses, but it sounds like an order, like a demand, squeezing like a fist in his gut, and he's shoving in hard at the thought of it. 

"Oh fuck yes," Crowley agrees. No longer certain which of them wants it any more. 

"You'll be free to use me, in every way that pleases you, over and over, forcing me to feel pleasure while you're inside me. While I'm begging you to stop." Aziraphale hisses at the end, a long catching breath of air, that drags pleasure all the way down Crowley's spine and leaves him whining in his throat, trying not to hiss back - failing utterly.

"Yessss," he says obediently. "Whatever you want."

The angel's thighs are tugging and twisting under his grip, almost too hard to hold, as he pushes down into Crowley's increasingly desperate thrusts.

"You'll have me until I'm sore and aching, oh, stretched open and filled with your come, and everyone else will know that I'm yours, that I belong to you."

"Oh, Satan," Crowley's throat clogs completely, and he's just thrusting helplessly, body clenching tighter and tighter, like he might tear at the seams.

Aziraphale shakes out a breath, pupils blown wide.

"I'm your captured prize, demon. I've never been had by anyone else. You'll be the first one to come inside me."

"Sweet fucking - " The world narrows to a point and Crowley's shoving into the angel as hard and as deep as he can get, coming helplessly in long pulses that are so sharp that they almost hurt. It's so impossibly good that he can't breathe. He can see spots, and he's pretty sure his nose is bleeding.

Crowley's still shaking, giving low, breathless moans, when Aziraphale threads fingers into his hair, coaxes him to slip free and then pushes his head down, guides him between his spread legs, where the angel is slick with his come and flushed with blood. Crowley moans into the warmth of his cunt, tongue sliding through the mess, spreading it up against the hard jut of his clit, until Aziraphale rocks into the pressure. 

"Oh, you're so very good at that," he breathes. "So very good to me, my love."

Crowley moans agreement, anything, anything Aziraphale wants, feeling the sting of his scalp when the angel's fingers clench into a fist. He's rolling Aziraphale's clit just the way he likes, shaking fingers pressing in beneath to slide through his slick and Crowley's come combined. They make obscene, wet noises as they push into the angel and start to move. Stretching him out as he draws Aziraphale's clit into his mouth and sucks it gently. Until the angel is coming in long, trembling shivers, making deep noises of pleasure and rubbing slowly against Crowley's face. Until he eventually slows to a stop on a breathless noise of utter satisfaction.

And then Crowley is just laying on Aziraphale's thigh, every breath gusting out hot, one hand still clamped round Aziraphale's leg. What is he even for any more? He doesn't remember. Is it just this, oh, can it be just this? 

He makes himself move over and roll onto his back, finds Aziraphale's arm and curls his fingers round it. He has to touch him so he doesn't fly into pieces, because he's not entirely certain he's still corporeal.

"Oh good Heaven's," Aziraphale says quietly, and then simply breathes, like he can't get anything else out. 

"Sweet motherfucking Satan," Crowley offers from the other side of the bed.

"I feel like we did that wrong?" Aziraphale says tentatively, though he sounds amused and warmly satisfied. 

"It did seem to go off the rails a bit at the end," Crowley points out, in a way that he hopes doesn't sound like a complaint. Because it isn't, it really, really isn't. "Though you didn't seem to mind. Got quite into it there, didn't you?"

Aziraphale makes a noise that's more than a little embarrassed. Which isn't surprising considering some of the filth he was spouting towards the end. His hands drift upwards as if to cover his face, before he simply lets them fall against his chest, decides to be flushed where everyone can see him.

"Says the demon who came so hard he gave himself a nosebleed," he says in return. Crowley suspects he's trying to be either smug or prim, but he's too breathless and trembly from orgasm to accomplish either. He's always beautiful like that, so Crowley makes the effort to slither up onto the pillow next to him, drag a hand through his fantastically dishevelled hair. Which gets him a smile from the angel, and a hum of contentment.

"I think you nearly broke me," Crowley admits, sounding more amused than disgruntled. "Though I wouldn't say no if you wanted to try something like that again. You could even make a list next time." 

And that makes Aziraphale laugh

"We could certainly experiment," he decides. "We have more than enough time."


End file.
